The Second Time Around
by planet p
Summary: AU; Sydney meets Miss Parker's favourite romance novelist at a book signing. / Refining an idea, 2 edits
1. Chapter 1

The trouble, Sydney decided as he made his way along the hall, would be in containing his frustration. The hotel hadn't been hard to find, and the room specified in the letter was likely just down the hall. The problem that was causing him so much trouble was that he didn't believe her, he didn't believe a word of what she'd written in her letter to be true, and if push came to shove, he'd tell her exactly that. To her face, if need be.

He really hoped it wouldn't come to that, that she'd give up this little game she was playing, but if it did, he would stand his ground. Catherine had been a friend, in a way. A good person. The fact that Darcy, whom he'd had a hard time with right from the very beginning, back when he'd first got in contact with her over the Web, and then when they'd spoken over the phone on the rare occasion, had so much as written this letter of hers made him extremely uneasy.

He didn't know what her game was, or even why he'd gone to see her at her book signing in Dover – it had been impulsive, rash and altogether stupid – but he had, and now that he'd read the letter she'd surreptitiously pressed into his hand at the end of the event, he decided his reaction was fair enough. She'd started this little game, and now she would have to deal with the consequences of it, too.

Nervous as he'd been – this was Miss Parker's favourite writer, and he'd made a promise to himself not to embarrass either of them, Darcy or himself – he'd not failed to notice it right away, the instant the queue in front of him had cleared of people and his gaze had slowly, somewhat reluctantly shifted away from the other people attending the gathering to her face. If one was to look closely enough they would see that Darcy O'Hara shared a remarkably striking resemblance to Catherine Parker, it was true. Yes, Darcy did look an awful lot like Catherine, but that did not automatically mean that she was, in fact, Catherine. There was still the matter of Catherine's sister, Dorothy. Perhaps she'd even had another sister, or cousins. He didn't know. The most likely explanation he could think of was that she was Dorothy, and that her behaviour, and this game she'd begun, was only being acted out out of loneliness, because she missed her sister. Perhaps they'd even been twins, as Jacob and he had been. Anything was possible.

Finally, he came to the hotel room she'd specified in the letter, and stopped, recalling exactly the whispered tone she'd used to tell him, "This is for you. Later." She hadn't wanted him to stick around, had wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible after handing over the letter. It made him wonder if she'd lost the nerve, if he'd come all this way for nothing, an empty hotel room.

Another part of him, knowing as he did that Lyle and she had known one another, before he'd been acquisitioned by the Tower to whatever ends, could not help but question if this had been her own idea or not. Perhaps it had been Lyle's, another one of his twisted, little games.

She had seemed hesitant, almost nervous, when she'd handed him the letter, as if she was worried he'd figure her out, and of course, she'd made sure to wait for the end of the night to hand it over, to be very sure he couldn't stick around afterwards to question her about its contents. And then she'd written: _If you think you'd like to discuss this matter further, and I strongly suggest you do so, if you have so much as a fleeting notion to, you may meet me at the address below. Please come alone. I trust you._

That last part had really annoyed him. Yes, Catherine and he had talked. Sometimes quite a lot, in fact. He'd been Catherine's confidante, and she'd told him before that she trusted him, that out of them all at that horrible place, she'd trusted him most, but this was different, felt... manipulative, intimate. He didn't like it. After having read in her letter that, according to her, the two of them had been having some kind of illicit affair, it felt as though she was trying to test him in some way, to see what he'd do, how he'd react, if he'd fall into her little game as easily as she hoped or if he'd resist. He still didn't know himself. He just knew he didn't like what she'd written in her letter, and before he took it up with anyone else – Raines included – he intended on taking it up with her.

After all, Raines had always maintained that she was dead, good and well. Always. Not once had he suggested otherwise, even after they'd found documentary evidence that she'd still been alive after her "suicide", just long enough to have Ethan. Raines hadn't mentioned a damn thing, not even to Miss Parker, and even Lyle, his crazy Pet, hadn't said a word. All he'd ever said was, I have a right talking to my mother if I want to, just as if she was dead and he could hear her Voice, which, given that he was an Empath and not an Inner Sense Possessor, was utter claptrap, but even Parker had resigned, in the end. "Let the crazy talk to someone who's not there," she'd told him. "If he wants to put on a big show to impress me, I'm not impressed. Officially not impressed, okay. Nothing to worry about."

Now, yes, it did worry him. Everything that lunatic had ever said, or hadn't said, worried him. Now that he was gone, now that the Chairwoman had fired Raines. Because stupid as he'd made himself out to be, Lyle hadn't been stupid, and even something he'd said idly in passing could turn out to be vitally important. Empaths had that habit. They liked to manipulate, liked to be the ones running the show, not merely playing along.

He tried to remember what Lyle had said about Darcy, in the past, but it had mostly all been told to Parker. She was Parker's favourite writer. Parker had said he'd liked to write in the margins of her books, which he'd bought after he'd learned Parker had them, or supposedly for work-related purposes, as he'd said, but he'd never seen anything of what he'd written.

Darcy had sent him a bowl, as he recalled, in the mail. A fruit bowl, Parker had said. She'd always been hoping something unfortunate would befall it, and then, apparently, Lyle would be sad, because the writer whose romance novels he translated and whom he'd never met in real life or so much as spoken to over the phone was a wonderful, treasured friend of his. He'd never understood that, but apparently Parker had thought it very funny. He'd always got the impression she was jealous, but maybe she'd known something he hadn't. Maybe he should have told her.

But he couldn't have! Not with everything that Darcy was claiming. He couldn't have told her any of it without knowing for sure it was the truth. It would be too cruel. And he didn't make it a habit to be cruel where Miss Parker was concerned. He cared about her a great deal, as much as he never, ever admitted it. He honestly did.

Perhaps that was another reason he was so frustrated – and angry – with Darcy. Had she even thought about Parker or Ethan at all, these people who she claimed were her children? Had she even considered them?

But she knew Ethan, according to her letter. She didn't say if she'd told him her fantastical little tale or not, just that she knew him, that she'd met him. She'd been staying with Margaret, after her "death", and she'd met Ethan. Underneath, he was a good person.

Margaret, of course, was Jarod's mother. That was another thing that annoyed Sydney. He'd met Margaret, a long time ago. She and Catherine had worked together – along with Michelle – on the project that had isolated the gene anomaly that had later become known as Cooper's Anomaly, that had later stolen two of Margaret's children from her.

He knew _all_ that. But he couldn't exactly ring Margaret up and ask her if any of what Darcy was saying was true. He'd not met Margaret in over four decades. And her husband, Charles, well, he'd never really known him. Had known of him, but had never really spoken to him. It had been Catherine who'd known Charles. Catherine and Raines.

According to Darcy, Ethan wasn't even Charles's son. Raines had been lying about that one, for whatever reason. All her children, that she was aware of, were his. And they, apparently, were Convergence partners, were Chosen for one another.

He didn't even believe in Convergence. He'd always told Raines it was utter nonsense; had told Jarod, "I believe that others believe."

He shook his head, pushing aside his troublesome thoughts for the moment, and reached out to knock on the door. If he'd been a betting man, he'd have bet no-one came to answer it, bet she wasn't ever here.

But then the door opened, and there she was, this woman who looked so much like Catherine Parker it was eerie, wearing a light blue cardigan with cutesy penguin buttons, no less, and an anxious expression in her blue eyes that matched Miss Parker's almost exactly.

.

She waited for him to close the door after himself quietly before she spoke. "You're not as I remember you," she spoke, as if to the room at large rather than to him, "as I've been remembering you. You seem much more..." She frowned, almost to herself. "You were always guarded, in your own way. It was just your nature, I suppose. We never much spoke of our pasts, so perhaps it had much more to do with that than I ever knew. I knew you'd come from another place, another land, as I had once, but... We never really spoke about the past, or... any of that. The future, _our_ future. What I mean to say is, you've been hurt, and I can see it hasn't done you any favours. I... I don't mean to be rude."

Sydney stared at her, wondering how exactly it was she didn't mean to be rude when that was exactly what she'd been. She hadn't even said hello. Not a single word of greeting. Hadn't asked how the trip had been, if he'd come alone. She didn't seem very practised at this, at meeting people, for a romance novelist.

She put a hand over her mouth, her voice quiet, in a particularly suspect manner. Her eyes that little bit uncertain and sad. "Your eyes are different." The sadness seeped into her voice. "They were always brown."

He wanted to add something to that, but she went on, as if she hadn't even noticed he might want to speak, adding, "Ethan's eyes are brown. Like..." Then, all of a sudden, she fell short, seeming to realise he was there and had been listening to everything she'd just said.

She frowned again. "I suppose I should have began somewhat differently. Hello might have been nice. It's just... you seem so unlike yourself. That's what I thought when Jarod spoke of you. He's not like my Sydney, it's as if they're not even really the same person. My Sydney was different, more hopeful. You know, it's true. You used to be so much of my hope. Back then, I mean... I'm not talking about Catherine, I'm talking about me, Harmony... that... that's my name, my re-... my other name, not my nom de plume, as they say. I'm..." She took a sudden, eratic step forward, towards him, startling him. Then she offered him her hand, her gaze joining his at long last. "I'm Harmony."

Something about the way she looked at him, the way her eyes looked into his, as if she was seeing someone else, someone she thought him to be but someone he most certainly wasn't, unsettled him deeply. He wasn't usually so rude, but he just couldn't bring himself to say, "I'm Sydney." To play her stupid, silly game. So he said, in a perfectly forward tone of voice, "I don't believe a word. Not a word."

And for a moment, she merely stared. She hadn't been expecting him to say something like that, had been expecting more... more warmth... more time... She'd been expecting him to play along, in all likelihood, to get a feel for her character and her motivations before he revealed his true sentiments.

She stepped back, seemingly fearful, and he almost felt bad. Almost.

"I'm glad you chose to read it. I'm glad you came here to..." She fell short, at a loss for the right words.

"To tell you I don't believe a word of what you wrote," he finished for her. "That I find it highly inappropriate and that I don't find it at all amusing. Not at all, Darcy. That is what I will be calling you. For all I know, you have lied about that too. Darcy is after all, as you yourself has said, nothing more than a pseudonym. I don't know that your _real_ name is Harmony, or that you've ever even met either Margaret or Ethan."

She straightened then, obviously offended by some measure, and replied, as if merely stating a fact, "My real name, as I have been led to believe, is Caitrín. I was born in 1938, away over the sea, in a country called Ireland, in a home of double sorrow that was not, in fact, a home at all. I had one brother and one sister, their names being Benjamin and Dorothy, but I can't be sure that were their names at all because names change, and especially ours did back then. Even my own name. Screaming... screaming couldn't even help. Wouldn't let her hold us, older sister. Wouldn't let us look upon us too long. Drag her away, don't know where, screaming in the old language. I sometimes fancy she might have said, 'Your sorrows will never leave. They are a part of you, inside your blood, inside your soul. They might lead you to happiness, or despair and death. To good, or to bad. I beg you, seek not with hurtfulness in your heart, only with determination, with thoughts of a better, fairer world... else you will find only hurt... until you die.' I think that's what she must have been saying, how she would scream. Once... once, she came upon a few of us children, and I knew why she was there, for me, of course, her eyes said as much, staring into mine, but she pointed to someone else, a little boy about my own age, and she said, 'That be yours. Your brother, that one.' I don't know how old I was, but that's when I first knew I had a brother.

"We looked at each other, as they were dragging her away – she was crying that time – and I swear we were both thinking the same thing. We didn't know whether to believe her or not; if she was just sayin' it as she was mad or if there were truth to her words. So... so I... I walked over there and stopped right there in front o' him, told him plain, 'Me name's Catherine. And what be yours, brother?' Thought, he might tell me, just for a lark. But he didn't, said, right to me face an' all, 'She's mad, that scrap. They all say it, an' it's fair an' true. She's mad and you are equally as mad if you mean to believe a word she says.' And do you know what I said? I didn't burst into tears and flee, as I absolutely very much wanted to, but I said, 'If I can guess your name and it be right, then we'll be kin from this day.' He didn't expect me to, but I got it right. Said I must have lied, must have known it from one of the other wee buggers about the place, but I didn't. Benjamin Theodore, that was my brother's name. At least back then."

She sighed, sadly. "But I go by Harmony nowadays."

"And what happened to your sister, Dorothy?" Sydney asked, not because he believed her, but because it was the logical thing to ask.

"Died," Harmony replied.

He frowned, deciding it was time to get serious. "She died. Too bad. Was this... before or after you died _and_ came back _and_ lost all your memories?"

"I must say, you've become quite the charming character," Harmony told him. "I always thought you were rather a darling, but I must have been mistaken. You had your secrets, dear, and I had mine." She laughed, for a moment or two, not amused, not exactly.

He fixed his eyes to hers, abruptly deadly serious. "You want me to buy this little story of yours, Darcy? Hmm, is that what you want? That I believe you, your..." he shook his head, "story? Believe that you're Catherine? Well, you know what, you might want to start by investing something real into it, by putting in some honest effort. You want me to buy it, you're going to have to sell it. Simple as that. Do I come over as the charitable sort to you? Well I'm sorry, if that was the impression I gave, because it's not true." He crossed the short distance between them, suddenly standing very close to her. "Not in the least."

Tears made the blue of her eyes smudgy but she refused to let them fall, refused to let her voice fail her completely. "I didn't write you that letter to be barbaric, or to get anything out of you. I wrote it because I thought you ought to know, because I thought you _deserved_ to know! I thought you were a person who'd care to know the truth!" A bitter smile touched her lips. "Certainly, Jarod always-"

The scowl on Sydney's face stopped her words dead. It very clearly said, What right did she have so much as mentioning Jarod in front of him, or what Jarod had said about him or hadn't said about him? Absolutely none!

She stopped smiling, completely resolute and calm as she said, "I see."

He grabbed her wrist abruptly. "You see nothing! You're not even Catherine! You're playing some stupid, little game with us all, with me, first and foremost, and you think you still have a chance of winning? You're dreaming! You're out of your mind, woman! Out of your mind!"

She yanked her wrist from his grasp roughly and glared at him. "What are you going to do? Take me away, have me locked up, put away?" she shot angrily. "You never did before? You didn't want to see it! It didn't concern you – why should it? I wasn't _your_ wife? You...! You...!" She opened and closed her hands, breathing harshly. She had to contain her anger, it really wasn't right, and this hadn't been her intention at all. To lose her cool. Certainly not.

She took hold of the front of his clothes, forcibly restraining herself from shaking him. "You say I'm the one playing a funny, little game, but you're the one who refuses to speak sensibly! I'm not asking you to believe me, Sydney! I was never asking you to believe me!" Her hands lost their grip on his clothes. "I only wanted to do the right thing!" she murmured quietly, close to tears. She had no wish crying in front of Sydney Green, but they each seemed to have that effect on each other, whether they liked it or not, that they could always press each others buttons almost without trying.

Shaking, holding back her tears now, she honestly didn't know what to believe anymore. She had these memories, Catherine's memories, and then she had now, the present, and in the here and now Sydney and she seemed not to get along at all. How they'd ever done so in the past confounded her. Yes, she'd come to love her imaginary friend, but he'd only ever been part of her imagination, he'd never really been Sydney. Despite what Emily had said, she didn't believe he'd really ever been Sydney, the part of him that couldn't let her go no matter what, because they were meant to be together. He'd just been her silly little girly imagination, and the truth, the cold, hard truth, was anything but comforting.

"Why do you say these things, hmm?" He didn't sound angry anymore – he was the reasonably, together Sydney Jarod always talked about; the Sydney that had to get up and go to work everyday – but she just couldn't make herself look at him. She was too upset, too angry herself. He wasn't her Sydney. Her Sydney was dead. Maybe he'd never even been real, maybe he'd only ever been a show, a game. Maybe even Sydney had needed a break from himself once in a while, so he'd simply pretended, and she'd fallen for it, they'd fallen for each other's lies.

Maybe, she couldn't quite remember, but maybe they'd both known, from the very beginning, that they were only playing a game, and maybe they simply hadn't cared, had just needed the pretence that badly, for just a little while.

She shook a bit more, thinking that it was quite possible. It wasn't the scenario she'd ever imagined, but it was possible, and it hurt a lot, more than anything else Sydney had said to her so far, much, much more.

"You must know how I feel about Catherine. That I cared for her as a person."

She shook her head, not looking at him. "How should I know when you've never told me?" she whispered. "You've never said anything of the sort, Sydney. You just assume. You assume – and you throw all my efforts back in my face, just as if... as if she was never anything to you in the first place!" She looked up to meet his eyes, tears wobbling in her eyes. "How can I not be her, Sydney? How? I want to know! Say something! You think I wouldn't give anything in the world..." Her words got caught in her throat and she started to sob, looking down at her shoes, at the cardigan Emily had knitted for her that matched the one she'd made for her son, Hubertus, at the little penguin buttons she'd made by hand out of polymer clay.

She knew why Emily had made them matching cardigans; it was because, at least in Emily's mind, Hubertus was her grandson, and she wanted them to be able to feel close to each other even when they were apart, but Harmony didn't even know if she cared. Part of her fiercely wanted to care, if not because Hubertus was her grandson by blood then because Emily was, and had been for almost as long as she'd been alive, like a daughter to her. Because she loved Emily the way she always imagined Catherine loving Melody and Ethan, but she wasn't even sure that was true, she didn't even know if Catherine had loved her children for who _they_ were and not merely because it was expected of her, because she'd wanted to be a good parent and good parents loved their children.

She didn't know, and Sydney didn't want to know, it seemed. Didn't want to be her friend anymore because she was acting crazy, and he'd always refused to believe she was crazy, always adamantly refused, but now, how could he deny it any longer?

She sort of bent over, thinking that she might as well plop down on the floor and sit there and cry like a little girl for all the difference it would make – she'd be miserable no matter where she sat, or didn't sit – and that was when she felt someone put a hand on her back, someone who could only be Sydney, but she knew it wasn't to comfort her, knew it even before he opened his mouth to speak, and that was when she decided she was done with crying like a baby and embarrassing herself, done with making herself miserable over the fact that Sydney wasn't who he'd once been, was no longer her friend, and decided that, to Hell with it, if he wanted proof that she was telling the truth, if he wanted her to really sell it, then he'd bloody damn well have to put up with it when she gave it to him. She was sick of him making her out to be a demented fool. She still had her pride left, and he was seriously beginning to damage it. She didn't like that.

"Look, Darcy, we're both adults. You know this isn't helping. I'm not just going to relent and agree to believe you because you put on the water works. It doesn't work that-"

She stood up straight, catching his eyes. For a moment, he almost looked startled, then he just looked upset, though he was trying not to let it show.

"Right. Well, now that you've decided to see some sense-"

She took his face in her hands and kissed him, completely ignoring anything he'd just been saying. She didn't care if he liked it or not. They had been Convergence partners once; perhaps it would trigger something, some of his memories. Even if it didn't, she really didn't care. He could say what he wanted, be as mean as he liked, but she still loved him. She didn't think they'd honestly ever been in love, all those years ago, but she knew now that she was in love with him, had been in love with him for years, when she hadn't even known who he was and had only ever known him as her imaginary friend. Forty one years was a long time to go without the person you loved and now that he was here, in whole or in part, she didn't have to anymore, so she kissed him and it didn't matter if he didn't kiss her back.

.

The woman was crazy. Crazy for sure. Crazy, but for some reason Sydney couldn't bring himself to push her away. Maybe he'd been acting a little crazy too. After all, he'd been pretty well damn upset about all of her allegations. And... and if he truly was Miss Parker's father... For God's sake! Cathy had never said a damn thing to him, and she'd had years! Years!

It really didn't help. If it hadn't been bad enough that he hadn't been there for Nicky, then it was doubly, triply as bad that he hadn't been there for Miss Parker the way she'd needed him to be. If he really was her father, and he'd been there all along, and so had she, but so had his job, so had Jarod... God! He couldn't think about it! He really couldn't!

It was probably for the best that the crazy woman was kissing him. He hadn't kissed her, so apparently she'd been hanging out to kiss him, and it made his thoughts just that bit more confusing. He was angry as Hell, but if he just concentrated on something else, something _real_, he knew the reason for his anger would slowly but surely slip away, back to the back of his mind. He wasn't quite sure it was the right thing to do, was fairly certain the crazy woman was only doing it to win his favour, and he'd never knowingly taken advantage of any mentally ill or unstable women before, but this was different. It was different, he told himself. She thought it was what she needed and who was he to argue with her? If he did, who knew what would happen? It could just set her off further. Yeah, it was crazy; she had his cell phone number, knew his email address, could tell people he'd taken advantage of her, abused her, if he let it go too far and then suddenly wanted out, but then, she was crazy and could just as easily lose it and kill him, too.

He told himself he had no choice, but even he knew better. In the back of his mind, he knew better. He could take this crazy chick on. Hell, he could even win. He'd done it before; could knock her out cold with the power of his mind alone. Well, he had done it once before, with Cathy, but it had been in a slightly different situation. And he'd actually had to touch her.

Hell, what do you know, he thought to himself sarcastically, she's kissing you! I think that counts as touching, don't you?

It was rather nice, and it had been so long since anyone had kissed him, but then she was pressed all up against him and he had the most perfect opportunity; it wouldn't even be hard to hold onto her when she fainted and went all limp, he could easily grab onto her and put her down on the floor carefully; but she wasn't complaining or angry or crying right now, and even hearing her go on about her crazy sister, Dorothy, or crazy not-sister, didn't seem all that scary or strange. She was soft and warm...

Who was he kidding? A small part of him had wanted to kiss her that first moment their hands had touched when he'd handed her the book he'd brought along to be signed – for Parker, of course – and then again when she'd handed him her letter and their hands had touched again. It was sane and he'd studiously suppressed the urge each time, even when she'd leant in close to whisper in his ear and it would have been only too easy, he'd refrained. She could have been anyone, and he... he didn't need to be taking such chances.

He wasn't some heart-breaker, certainly wasn't Raines. And he had Michelle, though they weren't together anymore, though he wasn't in love with her anymore, had just kind of fallen out of love with her, the way people sometimes did. He still cared for her, though, and that was what counted. He didn't care for this woman. She was trying to have one over him and was using the memory of his dead friend to do so. Even if she was Cathy, or Cathy's crazy sister, Dorothy, she wasn't okay in the head. And he didn't want some crazy woman, could do better any day. Didn't want to encourage her destructive behaviour, obviously. He had to... had to...

He grabbed her arms, pushed them away and her along with them, made himself look into her eyes, which reminded him crazily of Catherine's and yet also, creepily, of Parker's. "Why are you doing this, hmm? You're acting as crazy as Lyle."

From out of nowhere, a look of outrage appeared on Harmony's face. "What do you know about my grandson?! How dare you label him crazy!" She glared at him, oblivious to the fact that he'd suddenly turned very pale.

He'd suddenly had the craziest thought. That this woman wasn't Catherine, but her mother. Heck, Cathy had shown Reaper tendencies and Reapers could regenerate, same as Healers. She could be years, decades older than she looked, and she still looked really, really good for her age. He was too shocked to even hiccup, he just wanted to go and throw up, actually. He felt sick.

Harmony shut up suddenly. "Oh," she said blandly. "You look funny. Are you okay?"

He shook his head, not wanting, or trusting himself, to speak.

"Can I help?"

He shook his head again.

She frowned, looking worried, for some ridiculous reason that didn't make sense to him, just at that moment, and stared at her hands for a moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... Of course you weren't talking about Lyle. You were talking about..." she winced, "your Lyle. I am such an idiot." She looked away. "I meant... my grandson, Lyle. Supposed grandson, I guess it is now. But it doesn't make any difference to me, Emi's still... I love her like a daughter, so what's the difference? There isn't." She looked back at him, disappointed.

He had to say something, anything, or else he'd probably have to run to the bathroom and be sick. He had to distract himself from his disturbing thoughts. "Emi? You're talking about Jarod's sister, aren't you?"

She nodded.

"And she has a son named Lyle?"

Harmony's eyes widened and her eyes suddenly shifted to the side of him, not quite meeting his own eyes. "Well, that's the way I heard it. She went to school in Canada for a time, you know. I guess she met a nice, French-Canadian boy there. Or a few nice French-Canadian boys... I wouldn't mind one myself. If-if I've nobody else to..." she fiddled with a penguin button on her cardigan, "keep me warm on cold nights." She nodded, still not meeting his eyes, and touched the side of her neck. "I... I have to check my phone. I might have a message from someone... Emily, maybe. Hopefully." She turned away and hurried over to the bed, reaching over to grab her tote bag and rummaging around inside it.

"Supposed?" Sydney asked suddenly, and Harmony dropped her phone on the floor.

She shot him a sad, hopeless look. "I didn't mean to say that. Can't you just forget I said anything?"

"Emily and Lyle have a son together?"

"Oh, gosh, is that the time?"

Sydney made a face, shaking his head at her. Yeah, no, that one wasn't going to work on him.

"Come on! I mean, it's crazy, no? Crazy talk! But yet – she named him _Lyle_! How many other Lyles do you know this side of planet Earth who are not just half-way round the bend but all the way there and back again, baby! Not too many, eh?"

"You're speculating? You really are crazy!"

"Crazy!" She laughed airily, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm a romance writer, honey! I can be as crazy as I like and nobody needs to know!" She tossed her head. "You've got to admit, Sydney, it would be kinda cute."

"The man is a sociopath."

"Choo talkin' about, honey? So was Kyle, and he was fine lookin' stuff!" She frowned, shaking her head. "But don't tell Maggie I said that, she'd probably... disown me or something. Bitch slap me into next year."

"You're not going to blame this on me are you?" he asked. "Your sudden... strange mood? Because, as I recall rightly, you were the one who kissed me, not the other way around."

"I ain't blamin' you for anythin', honey. Just you cool down now. I ain't blamin' no-body." She shook her head, picked up her phone from the floor. "I think I need a little something medicinal, mmm-hm." She waved a finger at Sydney, smiling. "And I'm not talking about, I'm not talking about..." She started laughing. "Do not finish that sentence, Harmony! Don't you dare!" She put a hand over her mouth and headed out of the room, stopping at the door to glance back at him. "Be right back. Get you anything? Coffee, tea, water? Vodka?"

He made a face and hurried across the room, only just figuring onto what she'd meant when she'd said "medicinal"; she'd meant alcoholic. "Hey. Hey! Cathy!"

She stopped dead, turning to face him, no longer smiling. "Do not call me that, Sydney. I mean it. Don't. I'm not your Cathy. I'm Harmony now, and I have no desire to go back to being that woman. You have no idea of the things that woman did. Not really. And as much as I care for you, and I sincerely hoped we could be friends again, you don't... you just don't call me that. She's still there, waiting, hiding out of sight, and she'll come if you call her, so just don't." She was deadly serious, the warm, easy light in her eyes now cold steel. "I haven't even told Margaret this, only Emi and I know, but I tried to kill Hubertus last year. _She_ tried to kill him. Cathy! And she almost succeeded. I'm not going to let her get a hold of me like that again, Sydney. Not ever. _She doesn't touch my grandchildren!_"

Sydney shook his head, not taking his eyes from hers. "I'm sorry to hear that, Darcy."

She shot him a weird look. "You have no idea. You're so funny sometimes, you're ridiculous. I assumed Miss Parker had told you about this all already, but apparently I was wrong."

"What didn't she tell me about, Darcy? About Emily?"

"A lot of things really, I guess. If she didn't tell you, I'm not about to. She must have had her reasons."

"Important things?"

Harmony shook her head. "I've just said I'm not going to tell you, so give it up, Green."

"Come on, Darcy, Miss Parker is important to me, too. I've known her... from the beginning. If it's important to her, I'd really like to know."

"And I'd really like you to leave me alone now. I prefer getting sloshed in private, tah."

"You are not going to get 'sloshed', Darcy. That's just... childish."

She laughed. "Sydney – shut up! You have nothing to say to me that can stop me, and I don't say that to be a bitch, I say it because it's true! Until you've tried to smother your own grandchild with a pillow- Until you _have_, and his mother's had to resuscitate him _in front of you_ – you don't say shit to me, Sydney! You can just shut the Hell up, like you've always done!" She put a trembling hand up to cover her face, shaking her head jerkily. "I have to go get drunk now. I'm turning into a complete and utter fucking bitch."

"Darcy?"

She shook her head and started walking to the kitchen. She didn't even stop when he caught her up, and only froze when he took her arm and turned her around to face him.

"Drinking yourself into an alcoholic stupor won't solve anything, Darcy. I can guarantee you that."

She rolled her eyes testily, a hairsbreadth away from losing her cool completely. "At least I won't have to think about being a child murderer!" she growled, placing her hands on his chest and pushing him away from her. She turned back to the kitchen, tears welling in her eyes.

"Hey. I owe you something."

She wanted to laugh, or just slam the kitchen door in his face. "You wanna call me a 'bitch', honey, 'cause I was mean to you? I already know I am – I'm a bad, bad woman – so go right ahead, be my guest." She laughed irrationally, tilting her head to the side, her eyes all sad. "Let's be BFFs, okay?"

"I don't even... I don't know what that means," Sydney replied, and pushed her back against the wall and kissed her.


	2. Step Back

Sydney knocked on the door and stood patiently to wait for it to open. The room was in a motel in Dover he'd never been to – clean, but more or less average – and he might have been nervous about meeting Darcy here, might have been nervous about a lot of things, but he wasn't. He'd had a week to think about this, after reading the letter she'd given him at the book signing. At first, when he'd begun reading the letter, he'd been both furious and incredulous. He'd wanted to call her up right away and tell her she was mad; he'd even written out a little speech he'd intended on giving her, but in the end, after reading it over every night for two days, he'd decided that he could be smarter about the whole thing. At that point, when she'd given him that letter and he hadn't known what was written in it, she'd probably thought she was pretty smart, thought she held all the cards in her clever, little game. But he didn't have to play into her game, felt sick and angry at the very thought. So he'd decided, on the third night, that he _wouldn't_ play her game! He'd make her think he'd fallen into the role she wanted for him, he'd make her think he believed her, and then he'd spring his trap. He'd force her to reveal the truth.

Four days ago, when he'd first thought of evening the playing field and the idea had occurred to him, he'd actually been frightened by the sort of things getting around in his mind. He'd thought it too monstrous a thing to do to anyone, and then he'd thought of how monstrous Darcy's intentions were, how _wrong_ they were.

He didn't believe she'd ever been Catherine Parker, despite similarities in their appearances, and he certainly didn't believe that because of her "death", she'd suffered from amnesia for many, many long years in which she'd had no idea who she truly was and had carved out a life for herself as Harmony, living on the run with Margaret, Jarod's mother, and her daughter, Emily; writing romance novels on the side under the pseudonym Darcy O'Hara. And he certainly didn't believe that after William had shot her, he'd Healed her; didn't believe shooting her had been her idea, and part of the plan all along, to fool the Tower into believing she was truly and once and for all dead. They'd never even known she'd been alive, and there was absolutely no way Sydney was about to believe William a Healer, nor that he was a Healer capable of Healing someone after they'd been shot in the head. Healers could do some top stuff, but they couldn't do that, and he was no fool, he knew the way it was. He'd done his research, over the years.

And as to William's motivations in all this, as to why he'd help Catherine with her plan to rescue the children – 'I could have exposed him to the company, could have let them have Annie and Sam' – he didn't believe William would have stood for someone blackmailing him like that, the Chairman's wife or not, his brother's wife or not (if he'd even known James was his brother back then).

It would have been helpful if he'd been able to contact Margaret and clear this whole thing up, but it just hadn't been possible, and he'd entirely written off the idea of approaching William about Darcy's claims. He might have been capable of meanness, but he wasn't insane. Not just yet.

Besides, Darcy probably had no idea that Catherine and he had been friends, after a fashion; probably didn't fully understand what she'd even been going on about in her letter, because if she had, if she'd had any idea, she'd know how personally he was going to take her claims and she'd know that as such he wasn't going to go to someone else to deal with this little problem, he was going to deal with it himself. In honour of his friend, Cathy.

Messing him around was one thing, but messing Cathy around, who wasn't alive anymore to defend herself, messing her children around, was too much. He might have been frightened at first, but he needed to do this. He needed to show this woman she couldn't just do as she pleased and mess with people's lives the way the Centre had been doing for decades.

If he thought back on it, in hindsight, he hadn't done a whole lot to stand up to the Centre, to counteract their wrongdoings, but he also knew it was all very well and good to look back and say, "I could have done more. I _should_ have done more." He had done what he could when the opportunity had arisen.

As to his current dilemma, he had the perfect opportunity to act right now. No, he hadn't even considered telling Miss Parker what this woman – her favourite writer, at that – was claiming. It would be cruel and inappropriate, and when his plan worked out and this woman denounced all of her claims, had he mentioned it to Parker, it would have also proved itself to be foolish and hasty. It was something new, something he'd never heard of before – it wasn't like the Tower's claims that Lyle had been Miss Parker's twin, and now that Oliver was in fact her twin – but that didn't mean it was true, either. Just because nobody had shown up claiming to be Catherine Parker before didn't make it a given. There was no reason for them to have, the woman was dead.

And on the slim chance that there was some merit to this woman's claims... well, he would find out tonight. He wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste because he was frightened, because it just wasn't _him_.

He'd read the details of where he was to meet up with Darcy and committed them to memory; he hadn't need to look twice at them, either out of uncertainty or merely out of frustrated or nervous paranoia; he had a good memory.

He waited for Darcy to come to the door, contemplating whether he should be nervous or not, how it would play out in line with his plan for the evening. Darcy had claimed that Catherine and he had been lovers – a claim which had been particularly problematic for him, not just because Cathy had been married, not just because she'd had a child with another man, who was apparently actually his child, but also because Catherine had been troubled. He'd never agree that she had been mentally ill, not without Miss Parker, in the very least, agreeing. And he'd never brought up the topic with her, and she'd never brought it up with him. She'd said things had been tough, but she'd never outright said, "My mother was a loop." She hadn't deliberately and maliciously sought to attack her mother's character.

Perhaps Catherine had been mentally ill, but if she had been, she'd have had plenty of damn good reasons given her situation, given who she'd been married to and what she'd been. And she'd never done anything to hurt him. Yes, her plan to rescue the children had resulted in his brother, Jacob's, death, but he'd never held that against her. What the Centre had been doing was wrong, and it still was. Someone had had to do something, someone had had to act. The only objection he'd ever had about the whole thing – and it was the same objection he had with Jacob, though he understood the reason why it might have been; Jacob hadn't wanted to see him get hurt – his only regret was that he hadn't been invited to be a part of the plan, that Catherine hadn't told him more.

If Darcy was right and they had been in a relationship, she would have told him. She'd have sought his help, or at least his moral support. Or he'd have... surely sensed something and demanded that he know the truth. He wouldn't have let Cathy go off with William alone to have her baby after her "first death". He couldn't have. If he'd loved her – and he knew about love, about that sort of love, from his experiences with Michelle – then he'd have... he'd have stopped her. It just would have killed him, and even if he'd forgotten all of it because they'd been Convergence partners, because they shared the same expression of the Anomaly, because Cathy had forgotten herself, something of it would have remained. The physical pain would still have been there, without or with a reason to go along with it. And it just wasn't.

Yes, he was hurt for Cathy, because she'd died, because her plan hadn't worked out, because William – in typical fashion – had turned out not to be a friend or a supporter, but a double-crossing bastard; he was hurt because Cathy hadn't been able to be there for her children and she hadn't been able to live out the rest of her life, but that just wasn't enough, to his mind.

He'd never felt resentful towards her, never thought her overly selfish, never just wished she'd have done everything differently, wished she'd never died. He'd never missed her the way he should have if they'd been lovers, the way Miss Parker had told him Ben missed her.

Even without being able to remember, something of their connection would have remained, something would have stung just a little too much.

Darcy was merely fabricating all of this, perhaps with the help of another – Lyle maybe – or perhaps the reason went deeper than that. Perhaps she'd felt some connection with Catherine, was a relative – who knew – but she was not Catherine. It just didn't ring true to him, and he could have believed it, would have, if it was true, he just knew it.

He didn't _want_ Cathy to be dead, but she was, all the same.

And yes, he did occasionally "see" her and talk to her, and though he'd always thought this was his way of coping with letting her (and Jacob) down – he should have known William wasn't to be trusted, should have known Catherine couldn't go it alone after Jacob "died", should have seen something to indicate _something_, something bad was going to happen again. It even made sense, seeing her, because she was dead, but that wasn't the only reason he believed her to be.

She could merely have been an extension of his own psyche all along, or she could have been an unconscious extension of Cathy's, even with her still alive, but this woman... something told him she was not Catherine. And he had to trust his instincts sometime.

Refraining from a tired sigh, he snapped out of his thoughts as the door was opened and Darcy appeared in front of him. She wasn't wearing anything particularly appetising, nothing to entice him, to befuddle his mind and trick him, but it could have been all part of her plan, or maybe Lyle's plan, as they'd apparently known each other well enough for her to send him mail, though they'd supposedly never met, or spoken over the phone. Sydney could see it perfectly, could see that this might all just be part of Lyle's plan to get back at Parker one last time, now that he couldn't do so himself, now that he was, in all probability, dead already. He had to get back at her, because he hadn't won their bet, because she hadn't fallen under his spell and consented to being his "woman". There could have been a dozen different reasons, and a dozen more reasons why Darcy would agree to be a part of Lyle's crazy plan, but Sydney didn't care about any of those reasons. His only interest was in upending this woman's game as soon as possible, his only interest was in ending this new nightmare.

All the things she'd written in her letter might have come from Lyle, even the suggestion as to what she might wear for their "motel rendezvous", though perhaps not the cardigan, he thought. It was... odd, unsophisticated. It was light blue... and sporting penguin buttons! Hmm, then again, it might have been part of the plan, a nice little I'm-really-very-innocent card. Or maybe Lyle had merely thought it would be funny to have her wear some ridiculous-looking cardigan, and even funnier if Sydney didn't stop to wonder about it.

The rest of her clothes were fine, a white dress, small white, flat-heeled shoes with light blue laces (to match the cardigan or her eyes?); it was just the cardigan. Sydney was trying to figure out how it fit in with everything. Had he known someone else who'd worn a similar item of clothing? Someone he'd let down, perhaps; someone he'd wanted to help but had been unable to because it had gone contrary to his "job description" with the Centre?

He promptly cut off all enquiries, remembering that he had a plan of his own. He personally didn't find it sensible to play into other people's ideas to torment him, and even if Lyle was dead, that didn't mean he'd take pity on him and go with it. Why should he? It was sick and twisted and the guy was ended. He had no power over anyone anymore.

It was really only a split second between Darcy opening the door and his stepping inside the motel room, but it felt like much longer to him, his thoughts racing away in a dozen different directions at once, but he quickly collected them and reminded himself that he was getting off track, allowing himself to be distracted because he wasn't altogether comfortable with his plan, but maybe if he'd conceded to a little more discomfort in the past it wouldn't have come to this, maybe Cathy would still be alive and Jarod and Miss Parker wouldn't have been tormented the way they had been. Maybe he'd have been able to be a father to Nicholas, and Jacob would still be around to be his uncle.

He had no intentions of punishing himself over the past in hopes of evening the score, in hopes of feeling better for a while, alleviated of the guilt, it wasn't that. It just needed to be done. From the beginning.

He wouldn't perpetuate Darcy's sick game.

He allowed Darcy to close the door after him, biding his time until the perfect moment arrived, right when she turned back toward him, then he stepped in and sealed his lips to hers, pressing her back – a little rashly, a little roughly – so that she was backed against the door with no way of escaping. If she shoved him away, if she didn't go along with him, then it would be obvious she was nothing but a liar.

They'd been apart for forty-one years. For four decades, they hadn't been able to touch one another, comfort one another, just feel one another. It was perfectly understandable that he'd want to kiss her, that he'd _need_ to kiss her. But his thoughts were getting in the way again, skipping ahead of the action instead of allowing him to wait, just wait for her reactions, for the subtle, telling signs.

He had to be patient, had to wait for the truth to emerge of its own accord, or else he might miss it when it did. He tried to relax, told himself it wasn't... it wasn't wrong, per se, that he was kissing Darcy. Michelle and he were no longer a couple, no longer in love in that way. It wasn't even about _love_, it was about the truth, about dignity, about someone who wasn't alive to defend herself or her children.

There was no reason for him to feel ashamed of kissing Darcy, no reason other than that, under any other circumstance, he would have refrained. He'd always refrained. Just like he'd refrained when Darcy had handed him the letter and whispered in his ear. He'd had trouble recalling her words at first, confused by a strange power that had him leaning in, leaning closer, when she pulled away. But she didn't notice and the strange feeling passed and didn't return. Outside, in the cool September air, he'd recalled what she'd said, "This is for you. Later", and he'd put the letter away in his coat, deciding to grant her that one request, not to read it straight-away.

He should have, he thought now, but it annoyed him, the way he kept allowing his thoughts to come in between them, to intrude on what he was supposed to be taking note of, what he was supposed to be _feeling_. He had to get it together now, before he ruined the whole plan, before he let Cathy down a second time and Parker along with her.

_You're not seriously frightened_, he told himself, _you've just always been reserved. It's your way, I suppose. Let go of it for tonight. This woman doesn't know you; she doesn't know if you're one to take the lead or if you always hang back. It's a game. You're not just "you", you're also someone else, someone who's playing a game, someone who means to set things right. Take a chance, relax, let go. Don't ruin this!_

His heart was beating too fast, but if Darcy noticed, she'd only think it was normal, perfectly normal. He had to hope she would, so he slowly allowed himself to still his thoughts, to tone down the volume in his mind, and wait, wait for Darcy to reveal her lie.

She didn't push him away. Maybe she was in shock, maybe she couldn't, but he wasn't analysing her reasons just then, he was waiting, feeling.

He hadn't kissed anyone in... it must have been quite a while, maybe even years. It felt... awkward, unbidden. Forbidden. But not altogether undesirable.

Darcy didn't kiss him back. Not right away. Not until his hands slid up her arms, one of them burying itself in her hair, soft and dark; the other caressing the back of her neck. Yes, that was how it was done. It was good that he remembered to give something back, not just to take and take; he felt a little proud and had to remind himself not to feel too proud. He could still mess it up. Kissing her felt a little better afterwards, and then she was kissing him too, and it felt awkward and wrong again, just like that.

He felt panicked. His hands were going to start shaking any time now. He tried to calm himself down. Imagine you're kissing Michelle, he told himself, but quickly changed his mind. No, that wouldn't work. He was too fussy. He couldn't just kiss someone because it felt right, felt good. Always had to have a reason, ten reasons. But sometimes, sometimes people did things because they felt like it... good things, not just bad things... and... and kissing could be like that, too; could be a good thing.

His heart started to pound; his chest felt too tight. It was all going to fall apart now. He couldn't even kiss a woman to save his life. He just wasn't good enough, strong enough. He wasn't a God-damn Pretender. He was Sydney, stupid Sydney, and he couldn't breathe. It it went to Hell from here!

He pulled away, held himself back from stumbling backward, running, leant his head against the door, heart beating too loud, too loud.

It would have been still, quiet, if not for his raucous heart, his racing thoughts, if not for trying to breathe.

He had to say something; it was too quiet. Would be too quiet. "I thought..." His voice shook, worried and half terrified at the same time. He was such an idiot! Such an idiot! But that wasn't a good enough reason why he couldn't do this! "I thought you'd died." It sounded like a line from a song, a bad line, but he didn't stumble out something afterward. He let Darcy calculate her next move; he needed time to think up his own, to contemplate losing, as usual.

She laughed quietly, and it sounded horrific. He had the crazy urge to run, run and hide, but he stayed put, telling himself he'd be interested in her next move, under any other circumstances, he'd be horrifically interested. He wasn't Sydney, he was the player. The player wanted to run, but Sydney wanted to stay. Sydney wanted to find out what happened next. Was Darcy as clever as she thought?

"Me too," she whispered, conscious that he was right there, that she could easily startle him, if she wanted to, or without even meaning to. "I felt dead and..." she had to force her words out, the strangeness and unsuitability of them hard in her throat, "and I'd heard that she'd died."

Her words echoed in Sydney's mind, "she", "I'd heard that she'd died"; he felt suddenly upset, actually angry. Only people who weren't right in the head talked about themselves that way, or people who weren't who they said they were, who couldn't fully immerse themselves in their new role.

And sometimes, people who were damaged or hurt.

He wanted to contest with himself that he was justified in his anger, that it just wasn't the case that she was so hurt, so scarred, but she was a writer, someone who knew about the impact of words collected just the right way, who knew that allegory was sometimes more effective than the truth being thrown in your face, where the only way you could connect with the message was to feel it a person attack on you, a personal affront to you. Allegory let you feel empathy, in its own way; let you feel and think and understand, was not a slap in the face but a gentle hand holding yours urging you to take a certain path.

She wanted him to feel bad for her, of course. Did he play along? Would he, had they been lovers, had she really been Catherine? Would he feel bad, would he hurt for her, for her pain?

Yes... no... he couldn't know! He just couldn't know! He couldn't picture himself in that role in any way, and he was trying so hard!

"You idiot!" he whispered, to the door rather than her. "You complete and utter idiot! Why didn't you come to me?" He felt sick and remembered that he hadn't had lunch, not even a coffee. Maybe he'd been wrong, maybe he had been nervous. God, he could be blind sometimes, so bloody stupid sometimes. At least her hair smelt nice. She'd probably thought of that too; meticulously planned ahead.

She was smarter than him – and he'd been the one bloody training Jarod, the inerrable, fantastic Pretender!

"Why won't you look at me when you talk to me?!" she snapped back hotly, hurt but not quite ready to give up, to concede her ground.

He thought about that, impressed, for a moment. Well, yes, she had a point. At this rate, she was going to best him in no time.

She laughed suddenly. "I'm sorry, I meant to say, 'when you call me a jabbering fool!'"

He straightened up, took his head from the door, met her eyes.

Her gaze was stuck somewhere in space.

"Why are we arguing about... whatever? You're here now, I'm here now. Why?"

She stared over his shoulder. Not at him, but at least she saw him now, knew where not to look. "You called me a fool. You can't just call a girl a fool and expect her to take it lying down." Abruptly, she cut her gaze to his, the intense blue of her gaze crashing into him like waves against rock.

He tossed his head dismissively, perhaps a little jerkily, but when he spoke his voice sounded playful, though he couldn't think that he'd planned it that way. "You're a fool."

She didn't smile. She might have been glaring at him. He had a feeling she was, actually, glaring at him.

"A little fool."

"A fine man of seduction you make, Mr. Green," she said.

"I quite agree, ma cher. It's a French thing; it's no big deal."

"You're Belgian," she replied coolly, her eyes narrowed on his, dark and flinty.

"Right. You got me."

She laughed. "Sydney, what did you think I'd do? Decide I must punish you? Do you have a secret spanking fetish that I don't know about?"

He hiccuped. He hadn't expected that. Should have, she was a romance writer, still hadn't.

"You are not." She leant closer to him, eyes wide. "You're pulling my leg!" (He'd always done that when shocked, hiccuped, but apparently she knew better than him what he was feeling.)

He held his hands up, casual as you please. "I'm not touching your leg at all. I think you're letting your imagination run away with you again."

"My dear," she added.

"You want me to be angry at you. To yell at you. Is that it? You're angry at yourself and you think if I am too, you won't be as angry anymore, you'll be angry at me, instead?"

She gazed at him coolly, defiantly. "I think you're letting your imagination run away with you again, ma cher."

"Beautiful women have that effect on me," he said. Stupid thing to say, but he'd been stumped, had to think fast. Didn't have a lot of sources of inspiration, sad as it was to say. Didn't do gossip – and since when did guys swap pick-up lines. You kept the good ones to yourself, if they worked. Not that it had been good, but Lyle wasn't really good with words anyway. Former bumpkin that he'd been, he'd probably believed everything he'd read in some romance novels.

Darcy crossed her arms, shifted her gaze from his a moment, abruptly gasped and looked back his way. "I'm not charmed. Don't you know you only say that when you've fallen over and landed smack on your face?"

He laughed. "Because that would be very alluring!"

"Clumsy is cute. Girls connect with guys who aren't afraid to show they're vulnerable too. Or maybe they just like feeling they're not the only idiots this side of the Milky Way? Emotional empowerment, and all. It's a hard world out there. You gotta get it any way you can, right?"

"You read to many books."

"You don't read enough."

"Is that a challenge, mon amour?"

She laughed, amused but unimpressed, her eyes coolly guarded. "Please! So now you're a ladies' man! I don't believe it! Wait, don't tell me! You've been taking lessons – from Liam! And boy, wasn't he a hit! Oh wow, the many thousands of love children attest to it, alright! Got one in every state, and Cuba, for good measure, 'cause the women, the women, the women! Who can resist? Not a sane man alive."

"Cuba?"

"Havana, amigo. It's magic!"

"I see. You've moved on. Got yourself a handsome Spanish man. Hey, why not?"

"Alejandro!" She laughed, leaned closer. "Sydney, no more taking the funny pills. They don't make you funny."

"I am funny. I'm very funny. Funny Sydney!"

"Get a hold of yourself, Green. I'm freaking out over here. Oh God, oh God, we're all going to die! Oh God! Where's the rum?" She laughed, looking him up and down. "You really need more practise, Sydney. You're not very good at kissing."

He rolled his eyes. "Look at you – Little Miss Romance Author! Thinks she knows it all. Hello, hate to break it to you – but... aren't you alone?"

She waved a hand airily. "Of course not, my dear. There's always Alejandro, the chiselled, exotic pool boy." She sighed. "Why are we arguing?" She frowned. "I suppose we must have argued a lot, back in the good old days." A grin suddenly appeared on her face. "Oh, I see! There's nothing like hot, angry make-up sex to brighten up your day. Kinky much, but I see. And I think I like!"

Sydney stared at her, giggling away to herself, her eyes trained on his, completely unselfconsciously. Unnervingly.

And boy, she was reminding him more and more of Lyle by the second. Or a living, breathing, crazy pre-programmed robot.

She frowned, tilting her head to the side, and he resisted the urge to shiver. Oh yes, definitely Lyle!

She started unbuttoning her cardigan. "It's the cardigan, isn't it? Boy doesn't take after you. I don't know who he takes after but..." She waved a hand, momentarily abandoning her unbuttoning. "Let's just blame the unicorns." She got back to her buttons, smiling at him.

He got the creepy feeling what she meant to say was, "This stupid top makes me look unsexy! Wanna see me get rid of it?"

Pulling off her cardigan, she threw it away somewhere behind her, uncaring as to where it fell. "Tuh-dah!" She grinned.

Sydney just stared at her.

"The moment is officially finito."

"I believe it is," Sydney replied. Now he just didn't feel like even trying to seduce her... she was... too awkward and clunky to seduce. It was just off-putting.

"Step back, Harmony. He did not come here to be seduced. He came here because he was curious. Intellectual curiosity, my dear. Oh yes. And..." She gestured a flourish with her hand. "Something follows on from that, I'm just not sure what yet. It'll come to me. Brainstorming moment." She closed her eyes, frowned. "It's not coming to me."

She looked at Sydney. "Say something."

"You're not Cathy," he told her, with a frown. She was just... pathetic, even. And certainly not Catherine Parker.

"I'm Harmony," she replied. "I suppose Catherine would have... bewitched you with her mystical powers so you'd fall eagerly into her waiting arms..." She wiggled her fingers about. "I, unfortunately, must rely on my mere mortal charms."

"You admit it. You're not Catherine. Why the game, Darcy, hmm?"

She laughed. "Oh, you don't believe me! You never believed me! You... you bloody tramp! Why the Hell did you kiss me then?" She pointed a finger at him. "You are mean! You are mean-mean-mean!" She squeezed her hands closed compulsively, searching for the right words. "Sydney Green, I find you strongly distasteful!"

"I find you strongly distasteful too, Darcy," he replied. "Not to worry."

She made a face, shook her head. "Bugger this!" She stalked over to him, grabbed the front of his clothes, and tugged him after her.

"Is this the part where you push me out the window?" he asked.

She stopped abruptly and grabbed his arms, reversing their positions. "This is the part where I push you-" She placed her hands on his chest and, to his horror, she did push him. Then she climbed onto the bed, where he'd landed, and planted herself on top of him. "Struggling will only make it hurt more," she told him.

"Lady, you've got to be kidding me?!"

She bent down and pressed her face close to his, her long hair brushing against his face. "You're not really Sydney, are you?" she said. "You're Jacob!" She laughed. "Bad, bad Jacob! You shouldn't have been bad, because now I have to punish you. I really don't want to, but I have to!"

He laughed right back at her, with an offended scowl. "My brother is dead!"

She glared death at him. "Say that again, I dare you! I'll kill you with my mind!" she all but screamed, and punched him in the arm. "Take it back, Jake! Take it back right now!"

"You're crazy! Crazy! I don't want some crazy lady in my face. Get out of my face, crazy! And whilst you're about it, get the Hell off me!"

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. A couple landed on Sydney's face. He resisted from laughing in her face again. It really wouldn't help.

She brushed at her eyes in annoyance. "He can't be dead. You're being stupid and mean."

"Darcy, calm down. I'm not dead, and I'm not Jacob."

She sniffed. "Stupid. Stupid. I'm so stupid. Can't even act my age when I'm 74. Got it from me." She sniffed again. "Do you really think Jacob's dead?"

"Actually, I do," Sydney told her. How could he not, for Christ sakes?

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping at her eye. "I'd probably go mad if my brother died. Madder than I am now, I mean."

"Catherine doesn't have a brother," he told her.

"She never told you about him, doesn't mean she didn't have one. Doesn't have one, Harm. She has a brother. He thinks she's dead."

"A brother, Darcy? Really?"

"We're twins. He's older. That's probably where the crazy boy got it from. I'm blaming it on Boo."

Sydney patted her nose. "Darcy, let's face it: We both know you're not, and never were, Catherine Parker."

"Prove it. I can prove it. Ask me anything. Talk to me, Little Green."

"I can't think of a single thing to ask, Darcy. Not a thing."

She sniffed. "I'm not Catherine. Let's make out." She bent down to kiss him, but he held her back from him, hands on her arms.

"If you're not Catherine and we were never lovers, why would I want to make out with you, Darcy?" he asked, a wild, disturbed look in his eyes. It made no sense. No sense.

"Because it's a beautiful night and we're all alone. Together. In this sad, little motel room."

"Come on, try harder!"

"Because I want to and I think you're gorgeous and I've wanted to kiss you for a tremendously long time but you were never there, never really there." She smiled at him sadly. "You are here, aren't you? You're really here? I'm not just dreaming?"

"As far as I know," he replied.

She pressed a hand to her mouth. "Please! Can I please kiss you?"

"No."

"I'll beg!"

"Please don't."

"Just once! If you don't like it, I'll... I'll leave you alone. Never speak to you again. No emails, nothing. I'll pretend you were never real, I never loved you. I'm a crazy woman. Crazed! Not sane at all. Just... just once?" She stared into his eyes, beseeching.

"You're right. You're not sane at all." He touched her face. "If you must, then go ahead. Cure yourself of this madness, or whatever."

She put a hand over his, holding her face. "I'll not be cured, Dr. Green. Not in all my life. Not even if I live to 105. I'm sorry to say, but your books and learning can't save me. I never could be saved, you see." She let her hand fall from his, and climbed off him. "You should probably leave. I don't relish crying in front of strangers, and we are strangers, are we not?"

He sat up and reached for her arm, only just grabbing hold of it in time. "Wait!"

She froze where she was and stared at the carpet. "Please go, Sydney," she said. "I've hurt me and now it can't be undone. Go before I hurt you too."

"Darcy, there's no reason for us not to be friends."

She laughed, the sound harsh, discordant, and turned her head to stare at him wild-eyed. "Do you have any idea how horrible a thing what you've just said is?"

"I don't think it's horrible. They say it's horrible; in books, on the TV, but it's not. We can still be friends, Darcy. If you want us to be!"

"I don't want us to be," she said stubbornly, her eyes getting teary. "I'll forget all about you. I'll forget I ever knew you. You'll be... nobody to me!"

"Darcy, come on. Be reasonable. We get along." He sighed. "I don't have a lot of friends. I... I'm not even sure if I have any. There are people with whom I am friendly, yes, and people who are friendly with me, but I don't know that I have a single friend. Except for you. We don't really talk about our... stuff – whatever you want to call it – but we talk. Even when I'm absolutely awful to you and I think you're going to hang up because I surely would, you never do! You always let me have my... little rant. I can talk to you! I... I'm not going to shack up with you merely for the Hell of it, but I don't want to lose your friendship, either. Surely you can see my point of view, Darcy."

"You're Sydney Green," she told him. "People like you. Sane people. Make a new friend."

"You like me! And I like you."

"I don't believe you do," she told him. "I'm sorry, but I don't. I don't think you like me one, minuscule bit."

Sydney frowned. She was putting words in his mouth. She was being unfair because he'd blown her off, shot down her advances. It really wasn't fair. She wasn't being fair.

There was a clicking sound across the room and the door opened. Darcy didn't bother to look around, already knowing who it was, but Sydney looked over that way, suddenly startled, quite imagining that it might very well be Alejandro, the hunky pool boy.

But it wasn't Alejandro. It was two women with red hair, one of them holding a small child, an infant, really, and the other pushing a pram in which a little boy was sleeping. The one holding the baby was younger than the woman who'd been pushing the pram who, when she looked up, Sydney recognised as Margaret. Oh crap!

The young woman was humming a tune, for the children's benefit, Sydney assumed, and Margaret had turned to close the door.

"This is crazy," the younger woman said. "I'm hungry again." Seeing the look from her mother, she laughed, the affection in her laughter evident in her eyes. "Oh come on, Mom!" she said, and then the laughter died abruptly. "I'm not pregnant." She rocked the baby gently in her arms, looking away from her mother, to the little boy in the pram.

Margaret sighed and directed her gaze into the room. "Harm, get off the Net and get over here! We have wine!"

The young woman frowned, spotting Sydney and Harmony at last. Harmony pulled her arm out of Sydney's grasp and walked over, putting her arms around the young woman and the baby and hugging them. "Are you okay?"

"Mom has wine," the young woman replied, in a monotone.

Harmony shot Margaret a grin. "Read my mind! High five!"

"Harmony," Margaret said, "why is," she pointed to Sydney, "here?"

"The vino, baby! It's all for the vino!"

"You haven't been drinking any vino whilst we were gone, have you?"

"He doesn't want me," Harmony told her straight.

Margaret nodded, glancing at her daughter.

"I'm not drunk," Harmony told her. "Not even a little bit. I'm just..." she waved a hand behind her, indicating Sydney, "an idiot!"

"You're not an idiot, Harm," Margaret told her. She shot menacing eyes in Sydney's direction. "Sydney doesn't do women, he has psychology!" she said, pronouncing the last word more loudly than the others.

The young woman groaned and glanced up at the ceiling. "Spare us the bitchfest, Mom. Sydney totally does women, okay, he just doesn't YouTube it! If he didn't do women, where the Hell did Nicky come from? Oh what, he materialised out of thin air? Somehow, I don't think so. It's so crazy, I know! How oh how did this happen?!"

"I'll get you a glass of wine," Margaret said, striding across the room.

"Oh yay! I'll just get smashed and pretend like-" She started to laugh, then she started crying.

Harmony took the baby off her. "Put a rush on the wine, Maggie. Stat, thank you, darl."

Emily made a face at her, very unimpressed, and walked over to the bed, sitting down beside Sydney and resting her head on his shoulder.

"I know I look like... really crap... right now..." she said, between sobs, "but I'm Emily... H... hi... It's really nice to meet you..."

"Emily. It's nice to meet you too, Emily."

Margaret turned and glared at him.

He rolled his eyes.

"Oh my God, he just rolled his eyes at me. It must be Parker rubbing off on him." She snorted and leant down to pick up Harmony's cardigan, which Sydney now noticed matched that of the one the little boy in the pram was wearing, and placed it on the counter, next to the sink, pouring three glasses of red wine. She widened her eyes at Sydney and held a glass out in his direction. "You?"

He shook his head.

"You can't say 'no' to free booze, Sydney. It's un-American."

"Fine, fine-" Then he'd be un-American.

Margaret walked over and handed him the drinking glass. "You're one of us now, Sydney. Relax, we won't eat you. Drink the wine. I'm not going to drink it on my own. I'll fall over dead drunk, and if I have one and there's more, I'll go back for another one, and another one. You get the picture." She sighed, smiling happily. "I love my life."

"She's being sarcastic," Emily said, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

Ignoring her grown daughter's ickyness, Margaret handed a glass to Harmony, who'd deposited of the baby somewhere and was sitting at the table.

"I'm sorry for being so yucky," Emily told Sydney. "I'm just really sad."

He patted her arm gingerly and she rested her head on his shoulder again, mumbling quietly, "You smell nice."

He winced. "Thank you." Maybe he would drink the wine after all.

.

The door burst open forty minutes later and Jarod hurried inside, kicking the door closed behind him unceremoniously. "I brought food! Annnnd, you opened the wine already. Mom! Harm is going to get drunk."

Harmony picked one of those individually-wrapped cookies out of the bowl in the middle of the table and threw it at him.

"She's throwing stuff at me!"

Harmony started laughing. A moment later, she was scowling. "Pizza isn't food. It's junky! Can I have some?"

"That's why I bought it. Where's Em? Is she crying again?"

"I think she's asleep." She glanced over in the direction of the bed where Emily had fallen asleep. Jarod looked that way too.

"Sydney? Why are you here?" he asked strangely.

Sydney pointed silently to Harmony.

"That's, um, unexpected," Jarod replied, leaving the pizzas on the table and hurrying over to the bed.

"Can I just..." he reached for Sydney's glass, "have that?"

Sydney gave it to him. It was empty anyway.

"Thank you."

"I didn't tell them anything," Sydney assured him. "It's just wine. I can handle wine."

Jarod nodded, looking worried. "We have junky pizza. Do you want some?"

"I suppose I should eat something today, shouldn't I?"

Jarod nodded again. "Haven't you eaten anything all day?"

"A cookie! That's right! I had a cookie. It was nothing to be boasted about, mind you. She threw it at me. I took pity on it." He pointed in Harmony's direction and she just grinned, snickering to herself.

"Do you want to sit with us at the table?"

He patted Emily's arm. "My daughter's in a very delicate place right now."

"Sydney, that's my sister."

Sydney patted her arm again. "Poor thing."

Jarod pressed the heel of his palm to his head, pulling a face. "Sydney! Have you met my mom?"

"Unfortunately."

Harmony grabbed for another cookie in the bowl in the middle of the table and scowled. There weren't any cookies left. "I'll throw this bowl at you, Green!"

"Hey! Hey!" Margaret took the bowl off her. "Nobody's throwing any bowls."

"Did you hear what he said about you, Maggie?" Harmony asked. "He said it was unfor-" she hiccuped, "-tunate that he'd ever met you. That's a really horrible thing to say."

"It is, and he didn't mean it. It's just the wine talking."

"Blame it on the wine," Harmony replied, wide-eyed. She grabbed a piece of pizza off the plate Margaret had set down in front of her and fell quiet to eat it.

Sydney stood up suddenly, ignoring Jarod when he winced, worried that Sydney had perhaps had a little too much to drink. "Oh, I mean it, Margaret! I bloody well mean it, alright!"

"You're embarrassing yourself. I don't care what you say. I don't believe it," Margaret replied.

"Why do you think- why do you think Jacob wouldn't talk to you alone, mmm? You, you! You made him uncomfortable. With... with your..."

"Yes, Sydney, I surely did. It was all those furtive, 'I want you, Jakey – I want you here and now' looks I kept shooting his way when I thought no-one else was looking."

Sydney laughed, swaying a bit on his feet. "You're a crazy woman, Meg! And... and... I want you to stay... away from my brother. Or else... we will be having a serious con-conversation... you and I..."

"Your brother's dead," Harmony told him, swallowing the piece of pizza she'd been chewing on. "How is she gonna get with him? You're funny in the head, Sydney. Stop talking. My God! If you can't handle liquor, why drink it? You're funny!" She said 'You're funny' as if she really meant 'you're disturbed', as if it was a very bad thing.

"I don't trust her," Sydney told her darkly.

"And I don't trust you!"

"Your pizza's getting cold," Margaret told Harmony. Harmony glanced at her, scowled, and sat back down to finish her food.

"I'll get you something to eat," Jarod said. "You don't have to come sit with us, that's okay."

"That woman isn't right," Sydney whispered darkly.

Jarod didn't say anything but walked over to the table. Harmony rolled her eyes at him. Green was a cracker for sure, and she knew he got it. It was just the two of them, they had an understanding.

.

"I need to leave," Sydney told Jarod, the next morning, on his way to the door. "That woman, crazy bloody writer, tried it on me. I have to get away. I can't stand her." He winced. "Never again, Sydney."

"I'll go find some painkillers," Jarod told him.

Sydney sat down at the table, resigned. "She's a creep, you know. A real creep."

Jarod bit his lip. "So, what did you two talk about?"

"She thinks she's Catherine Parker."

Jarod nodded, filling a glass of water and handing it to him, along with some painkillers.

"Tah."

Jarod sat down across the table from him. "She... she actually is Catherine," he said.

Sydney shot him a crazy look.

Jarod nodded. "I know it sounds mental, but it's true. She used to be Catherine. Then she got shot, by Raines, and she forgot, and now she's starting to remember stuff. It's crazy freaky, but I believe it. We all believe it. I mean, it's true." He frowned. "I... I don't care how nutty Raines is, I don't want the company hurting his kids. They're kids, you know. I'm... I'm not comfortable with telling the company he's a Healer, or whatever he is. Not if it means his kids end up... getting hurt. I don't like that at all." He scowled, looking away from the table. Outside the window, the sun was just starting to come up. "How has Miss Parker been?"

"She's doing her best, I suppose," Sydney replied. "To cope, as it were."

"Good."

Sydney nodded silently.

Jarod sighed. "Why... why did Harmony... try it on you? She's not... she's not normally like that. I mean, she doesn't try it on men... a lot... Did you... say something to her... maybe... accidentally?"

"I said nothing to her," Sydney replied.

Jarod shook his head. "Nothing?"

"Why... why are we talking about this, Jarod?"

"Harmony's a nice person, but you guys don't seem to get along for some reason, and now you're telling me she was proposing you. It doesn't make sense, Sydney. Not to... not to my mind. It doesn't make sense."

Sydney sighed. "I might have kissed her, in error. Out of... stupidity."

"Why? Why?"

"I was angry, that's why! I still am! Catherine was my... she was like my friend. And Darcy... I don't believe her. You... you do you're own thing, you're more than welcome to that, Jarod, but I don't believe her. I was... I was stupid! I thought... I was going to scare her out of lying, you know, out of pretending to be Cathy when she wasn't. It... sounded plausible."

Jarod stared at him in concern. "Sydney, you're just not good at... at making up really great plans. Super effective planning and you are like... Lyle and sincerity. I don't mean to be rude, but... scare her, Sydney? Out of pretending to be Catherine? By... by kissing her?

"She's a writer. Of romance novels. She's like... a secretly supercharged package of... romancey stuff. Kissing is bad. Very bad. Sets off all kinds of crazy alarms and urges in her mind."

"Well, I'm sorry about that. You're right, Lyle never was particularly adept at sincerity."

Jarod laughed. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

"I have absolutely no interest to know what you were just thinking."

"You know, it's just how he said he was in love with Kyle, and the look Parker got. It's just... amusing, in a sick, twisted kind of way. Why... why... why did you thinking kissing her would scare her? If... you don't mind saying..."

"She's under the impression that Catherine and I were lovers. Clandestinely."

"Clan-? Secretly. Uh-hah. Which, well, you weren't. I would so be angry too. Yeah. It makes sense."

"She said I was Parker's father. Hmm? Oh, so now, fifty years after the fact, she's suddenly all chatty about it. She offends my... She offends me! And Parker. Especially Parker!"

"That's pretty serious. I don't know if she should have been saying stuff like that. I mean, unless it's true, and it's still... painful to hear..."

"Painful, Jarod?! Are you kidding?"

"I... Extremely painful..."

Sydney shook his head, scowling. "She's insane. I must have been insane!"

"You... you can't... hindsight is always twenty/twenty, Sydney. You know that. I think you're beating yourself up over something you couldn't have ever anticipated."

"If she is my daughter, I should have known! I'm an ISP, Jarod! I'm not... I'm not your bloody mother, I'm an ISP! I should have known!"

"Maybe she was trying to protect you? Or Parker?"

"I don't care!" he yelled.

"Maybe you should try to," Jarod suggested quietly. "And... Harmony isn't Catherine. You can't be angry at her for Mrs. Parker's mistakes. Finding out all this stuff hasn't exactly been a carnival ride for her, either, you know. She struggles with it everyday. She doesn't say anything, but you can really tell, if you look closely enough. She doesn't enjoy it."

"I don't care."

"That isn't fair."

"She wasn't fair to me."

"She's doing her best, Sydney! She could have... she could have kept it a secret from you, but... she thought you deserved to know, you know. That's not all bad, I don't think. Even if it makes you feel bad! She told you with good intentions."

"I... I still wanted to be her friend, but she wouldn't have any of it. She thinks... she thinks everything can just go back to the way it was before – but that's bullshit!"

"She's not as strong as you, Sydney. Sometimes, when you really care for someone, or you love them, you... you need that person around to give you a reason to be strong, because... because if it's just you, you don't see any reason. It's... it's really sad, but I get it. Some people aren't strong on their own. And I don't think... I don't think Harmony can be anymore. Not with all of this stuff she'd been remembering and the... the bad, bad stuff, you know. It's not just... it's about her whole life, before she met Mr. Parker. Before she even knew anything about the Centre. When she was a kid in Ireland, and then coming to America. She had a hard life, growing up. And it hurts her. More than even, I think it really horrifies her sometimes. And she needs... she needs someone to be her reason to stick it out. To stick around, I guess."

He shrugged, frowning. "I guess she thought you might still have feelings for her. You might still... love her..."

"I never loved her, Jarod!"

"You don't know that. You can't remember."

"Oh, that's rubbish!"

"I don't think it's rubbish. I remember, when she was really down, she used to come and visit us sometimes and you were really good at making her laugh. Do you remember that too?"

"I know she... she was... calmer when we talked."

"You don't remember."

Sydney shook his head. "What does it matter, Jarod? I think I'd remember if we were having a bloody affair! I don't think that's the sort of thing you forget easily!"

"She forgot. And I think... we think you forgot some things too, especially to do with Catherine and you having been Chosen for each other. I think you forgot all of that stuff. Do you know why Emily was crying yesterday, Sydney? She was crying because her Convergence partner is gone. It does bad things to you, when you lose the one you were Chosen for. Really bad things. She... she only eats because of Aretha. She has to sit there and force herself, I've seen her. I have. And she has nightmares all the time. She's half frightened to death, she doesn't want to go back to sleep. She won't even talk about her dreams.

"If you hadn't forgotten all those things you did, who knows what would have happened, Sydney? You were hurt enough as it was, I remember. I have a good memory, a pretty damn excellent memory, actually, and I remember! You were unaccountably distant for months, Sydney. Even with me. Everything was just, mechanical. You did it because it's what people do. You weren't mean to me, but part of you, part of you that could have connected with me, it was away somewhere else.

"I don't know for sure, but I have a feeling even Miss Parker didn't want to talk to you because you weren't you. It wasn't just her own grief, or her grief over losing her mom. It was more than that. You weren't the Sydney she remembered. She didn't want to... to mess it up more, or be angry about it, you know. So I think she... she made herself not think about it. She made herself ignore it. You know, as a kid, she always liked you. She even told me how... how she felt real with you, not like some child, some half-being, but she felt real, respected. I didn't fully understand what she meant, at first, but then it dawned on me. Yes, that was exactly how the Centre made me feel – like I wasn't the same as them, I wasn't a real person. I was just... this thing, this piece of meat, this machine! Or half-being. But I was really happy to hear that she liked you too, that she trusted you. I thought, 'I'm not stupid or crazy, she feels the same thing I do. You're not the same as the others; you're different. Better.'

"I always respected you, Sydney. Even when I was mad at you, even when I was so mad I didn't want to do anything because... because it was just giving them what they wanted. I mean, even breathing sometimes felt like giving them what they wanted, but heck, I was naive but I wasn't crazy, I knew that was taking it too far, even if my feelings were legitimate, they stemmed from... from something painful, something damaged, a dark place. I didn't... Not everyone was bad. You weren't bad. Misguided, yes, but not essentially bad. We were the same. We did what we did because they wanted us to, and they were more powerful. It didn't matter if they paid you to do it, if you had a house and a car and you got to go home everyday and see other people, and I had a room that I didn't want, that wasn't even mine, and I only ate what they gave me, only pursued what they ordered me to pursue. They were hurting us both!

"They were all people to me. I couldn't look at them as something lesser because that was exactly how they looked at me and I still had my... my soul, if you will, my integrity, but you were different, Sydney. You were more real to me than any of them, than any of those others. I knew, if we stuck together, we could make it through. Maybe we'd scrape the edges a bit, now and again, but we'd make it through one day, in more or less one piece. But when Catherine died, you weren't Sydney anymore. You looked like Sydney and you even sometimes sounded like Sydney, but it took a while for you to put the pieces back into their ostensibly proper places; it was a while before you could fool me into thinking you were scraping by.

"I knew I had to be... the stronger one... because I didn't want you to break. I didn't want you to leave me, and I didn't... Those other people didn't understand, Sydney, and even though maybe I didn't understand a whole lot more, I knew I understood more than them. I didn't want you to have to... to be stuck with people who would refuse to understand, or just couldn't. It wasn't just that I wanted you all for myself or that I was afraid I wouldn't be able to be strong anymore if you weren't there, if we weren't a team anymore; I wanted you to be okay, too. To still be able to be strong.

"There was something, you had some connection with Catherine, Sydney. Believe me. Please. She was someone to you, not just anyone, or more of the same. To you, she stood out from all the others. In a way, I think she... she was part of your strength too. I honestly believe she was. You might have been... been having some great secret affair, but Catherine wasn't just... she wasn't just the woman you were... seeing.

"They say Convergence isn't love, and I believe that, it doesn't guarantee you'll be loved or love in return. And I think Catherine and you did have Convergence, I think that's why Parker and I thought... why we had Residual Convergence. But you loved Catherine, and she loved you. Maybe you weren't aware of it, or you thought it wasn't true, but you did... it was real. Crazy and real."

Sydney shook his head. "I don't feel better, Jarod."

"I know. I never imagined you would. You needed to know, that's all. If you don't want to believe me either, that's entirely your own choice. I just wanted to give you the option, to keep you informed. You need to be as informed as possible to make good choices. You... you taught me that."

"Thank you," Sydney told him genuinely.

"You'd do the same for me so there's nothing to thank me for."

"Perhaps."

"Really?" Jarod asked.

Sydney nodded. "I don't know. I'd like to think I would, but there are things I haven't told you. Things I didn't tell you in the past that I might have."

"We all have things like that, Sydney. It's okay. There's things I haven't told you, even though I care for you in my own way. There's a great deal I haven't told you, and even if I could, I wouldn't. The time just doesn't feel right, you know."

Sydney nodded.

"But if it was something about you, I'd probably tell you. I'm not all that great at keeping secrets; I like sharing too much. It's one of the reasons Parker's always a little bit ticked off at me, I think. But it's cool, it adds a little spice to the mix, you know. I... She hasn't told me pe-lenty of stuff, so we're about even, in the grand scheme of things. I have to stop talking about Parker now because... me and her, it's complex and it's 6:38 in the morning and if I keep thinking about it, I'll just do my head in. She's not even awake. We're in downtime at the moment."

He sighed. "I have no idea what I'd do were I in your place, Sydney, but... I trust you. You're not... one of those superficial types. You'll do your best to make the right decision. And, you know, don't be so hard on yourself. It's crazy at the Centre right now, but when isn't it? Really, if you think you've found a good thing, don't sit and stew about it. If you wait, the chance might never come again. If you still want to be friends with Harmony but you're not interested in a physical relationship, tell her again. It's possible she'll come round. You need a friend, I know you do. It helps.

"Miss Parker told me something once. I'm still not a hundred percent sure how it's relevant right now, but I have a mouth and I like to use it, so I'll tell you anyway. The thing was, according to Lyle, Catherine still loved him. That's what he told Parker when he was all like, She's my mom, too, sorta thing. I think she told him to get over it and quit 'talking' to her because she would never in a million years care about a loony like him. Then he said, She's my mom, she loves me, go bug Broots. Okay, so yeah, I thought it was crazy and so did she, so basically she ended up asking how he'd construed in his really messed-up mind that Catherine loved him. Know what he said? She loves me for the good things I do. You know, I suspect he was really talking about how he was always paying for Lyle Porter's parking fines even though they weren't his and BCPD thought they were which was such a massive... injustice. Probably not the best move, seeing as Porter likes to drink a little too much and drive afterward, a bit... passive aggressive, you know – Die, love child, die! You must not live any longer because your very existence upsets my chances with Parker – but one of the nicer things he's done, I think. Heck, he never actually did anything to Porter, though it's highly likely he was waiting for him to either drink himself to death or to clean himself up in a car crash.

"So, yeah, even if you think you're unlovable or you don't deserve to be loved because you've done some really awful crap, chances are, that other person doesn't love you for that bad stuff, they love you for the good stuff. That doesn't make them a bad person; it does make it a sad situation, but I don't think it means you're making them a bad person just by them loving you. But them loving you, it can make you a better person. It can make you want to make yourself a better person. And you can't say that's a bad thing. Very incredibly sad and probably very painful, but not bad.

"Parker still cares about you. So, you know, why let the fact that you weren't there for her as much as you think you should have been in the past stop you from caring now. No, you can't 'make up for it', but it's not a balancing game. You can do something good now, in the present. You can feel worthwhile, and be worthwhile. Maybe you don't feel worthy of someone else's care and love, but you can earn it, if you really... need some kind of system like that to make it feel... deserved and real.

"You... you don't think that, do you?"

"No."

Jarod nodded. "I'm gonna go make some coffee. I've just been sitting here rambling on for... I'm scared to look at my watch, now... I'll... go do the coffee. Do you want a coffee?"

"That would be nice, thank you," Sydney replied.

"I'm... really going. Slowly. Dragging myself away."

Sydney waved.

"I'm really going. Honestly." Jarod turned away and headed for the sink, feeling relieved. Thank goodness, he'd finally shut up. He'd been paranoid he might talk Sydney to death, if such a thing was even possible, but he hardly ever got to talk to Sydney in person so it had been hard for him to shut it, and apparently Sydney hadn't felt up to telling him. But maybe just listening to someone else had done him a little good. Jarod did hope so. Although he was slightly embarrassed now, and paranoid that Sydney suspected he was a little creepy in a stalker-esque manner.

He probably just would do best to switch off for a couple of minutes and sit down and have a coffee.

.

Emily shuffled in from the adjoining bedroom at 7:30 and plonked herself down in a seat, resting her head in her arms on the table. "I hate sleeping," she muttered, her voice muffled by her arms. "Can I please have a coffee, Jarod? I need to wake up. I don't want to sleep any more."

Jarod got up and filled the electric kettle at the sink, sitting back down to wait for it to boil. "Do you feel sick?"

"No."

"Was it Harm, last night?"

She moaned; no. "I had a bad dream."

Jarod frowned, reaching out a hand to touch her, maybe to rub her back, and then put his hand back down, thinking better of it. He didn't want to upset her further. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Fuck no," she mumbled into her arms.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Fucked up."

Jarod shared a worried glance with Sydney.

Emily lifted her head up out of her arms and sat up, peering across the table with sore, tired eyes. "Hey hey, Gramps. Thought I imagined you there last night, for a moment. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Emily," Sydney replied. "You're not so good though?"

She dropped her shoulders, hunching forward. "Are you asking that as one human being to another, or as a therapist to a patient?"

"I regard all my patients as human beings, Emily. They all are, as far as I'm aware."

A shiver ran through her whole body and she dropped her face into her hands. She didn't take her hands away until she heard the kettle click off and Jarod stood up, heading over to the counter to make Emily's coffee.

She stared at Sydney blankly. "I killed someone, and I liked it! I really fucking liked it! You're probably going to say it was just a dream, I didn't really kill anyone, I'm not that sort of person. People who know me say I'm not like that. But it didn't feel like a dream. It felt real, and it was so- it was so wonderful! I just feel sickened with myself. I don't want to be me, I don't want to look at my face in the mirror, I don't want to look at my stupid, fucking hands! I just feel sick! Do you ever-? Did you ever have a dream like that?"

"No, not that I can recall," Sydney replied, annoyed that he couldn't say anything else, that it sounded as though he didn't really care. "I have... felt as though I could kill someone, however, and yes, I knew it was against the law and therefore 'wrong', but it didn't feel, to me, as though it would be wrong. I actually believed it would be the right thing to do. I feel differently now, of course, but, it did happen."

"Did you feel good about it? Like it would be the best fucking thing in the world? Ever!"

"No."

She nodded shakily, her bottom lip trembling as though she was about it cry.

Sydney reached across the table to place his hand over hers. It felt like a bad idea, but he still didn't. He couldn't help it. Emily didn't pull her hand away, so he felt somewhat relieved. He really wanted to say something that might help her out, but all he could think of to say sounded suspiciously unhelpful. "It was... It was just a dream, Emily."

"No. I think it really happened... but not... not like that. I think it was part of a memory. Not one of mine... maybe part of... something like that, but not just mine. I hate it. I hate it!" She shivered convulsively a couple of times. She waited until she'd stopped shivering and lowered her voice. "I was abused in my... early to mid teens. Sexually. It kills me! This fucking dream kills me! I want it gone, out of my mind! I just want it fucking obliterated!" The harsh conviction in her voice died, faded out, and she added, "But it's not going to happen. It's not going to stop. It's going to get worse. Soon I'll be afraid to even look at my children, my family; I won't even be able to touch them. I'll be too scared. I just... I can't sleep anymore. I have to stop. I have to stop dreaming."

"You can't do that, Emily. It wouldn't be healthy. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She turned to look behind her, at Jarod, returning with her coffee. He handed her the mug. "Thank you."

He gave her a small smile and sat down in the chair beside hers. "Feeling a bit better?"

She winked at him, grinning. "You betcha, big brother. On top of the world."

Sydney didn't say anything, but he had a very bad feeling.


End file.
